MY FIRST conscious thought the next morning was of sleigh bells! Remember, I wanted them in my old-fashioned Christmas. Well, I heard them tinkling even before my eyes were opened.

Sleigh bells are rare things seldom found outside the land of memories, yet as I gave heed I was sure my ears did not deceive me. There was that sound I had learned to love so much in my boyhood days in the farming country of Illinois. At least, it was something like that old-time tinkle. I began to notice it was a little bit thin, and surely it was startlingly close. In fact, if there was a sleigh driving around, it must be right in our bedroom, and we were about to be run over. Then I heard a smothered laugh. Suspiciously I peeked out of a narrow slit in one eye to see Ray looking through a crack in our door, violently shaking a dog collar that had one small bell on it.

"Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas!" he shouted as he saw that I was awake. "Look what I snatched away from Santa Claus as he went by awhile ago. Come on and have a look at this day—you never saw one to beat it."

"Merry Christmas, Ray!' I called back. "That bell certainly did give me a fine dream while it lasted. Don't let the day get away. Giny and I will be right with you."

It was then that I looked out our window into a veritable fairyland ! Ray was right; we had never seen greater beauty. Nature had planned an old-fashioned Christmas too. All through the night a soft, feathery snow had been falling, the flight of the flakes straight and steady, not influenced by even the slightest breeze. Before dawn the clouds had completed their tasks and departed. The sun rose into a clear sky lighting a white, glistening, silent wilderness wonderland. The forest had been fitted with a new regal coat of ermine. Everywhere the gentle snow lay exactly as it had fallen. Stumps, branches, limbs, twigs and pine needles were piled high with it. Low balsam trees were completely covered, until they looked like ghostly figures in weird poses, as if a troop of frivolous forest spirits had been surprised and frozen in a grotesque dance. Tall trees had caught armloads of the treasure and were crowned with turbans of fleecy loveliness. Occasionally a high branch would let go its collection. The sparkling crystals floating earthward looked like filings from the stars.

Christmas, blessed Christmas had come! While the morning was still young, the homey home in which we stayed was a whirl of joyous activity. The fireplace was crackling. Giny was rolling out pumpkin and mince pies wholesale. Ada was dressing up the great turkey like an Indian prince. Ray and I were running errands all over the place.

The tiny twelve-inch Christmas tree was dazzling in its finery, and it was engulfed in a growing mound of presents. Neighbors from near and far came and went, bringing greetings, good will, and smiles along with homebaked cookies, jams, jellies and preserves "made of berries picked right in these very woods!"

One family of callers was of just the right make-up to promote a good snow fight. I had wanted to dive into the soft drifts and now I had my chance. In a battle that was a bit on the rough side, snow was tucked down necks, faces were washed, loosely packed snowballs thrown. I finished completely buried in a mound that had looked more beautiful and inviting than it felt.

June heard the wild cries incidental to this conflict and donned a ski suit in record time to come out and get into it. Ray had warned me not to underrate this slender miss, and I soon learned what he meant. While I had thought to frighten her with a shower of snow, I soon found I was having my own face washed at her hands, and snow was being tucked down my neck in considerable quantity.

In the midst of this battle Hi-Bub arrived. Yelling delightedly, "Oh boy, oh boy!" he sailed into the melee. His daddy, who had brought him, caught the spirit of the thing too. By the time we had finished we all looked like snowmen of different sizes and shapes. It took ten minutes of brushing with a stiff broom before we were permitted to enter the house again.

"That wuth a thwell fight!" giggled Hi-Bub, particularly pleased that June had elected to sweep the clinging snow from him.

I spoke with his daddy before he departed. "It is remarkably generous of you to lend us Hi-Bub for Christmas," I said to him. "I appreciate it very much. The day wouldn't have been complete if we couldn't have had him for a little while."

"His Christmas wouldn't have been complete without this either," answered his daddy, with an understanding smile. "I hope he won't be any bother to you."

"If he should seem like a bother that would be our mistake and our fault," I commented. "The little tyke has become a part of me."

"And you are a part of him," said the father warmly, showing plainly his approval of this trend in his son's life. God bless a parent who cultivates such unselfishness. Too often there is jealousy when the youngster reaches for companionship outside the immediate family circle. This man knew that love is infinite, and that affection is never competitive. He knew the love Hi-Bub felt for us was not taken away from his own parents, and that he had not less of his son but really more of him because of this growing interest. My grip of the man's hand I am sure told him I understood and appreciated these things.

Our Christmas day developed rapidly. I never knew so much in the way of happiness and adventure could happen in a few short hours.

Most of the morning Hi-Bub and all of us were in the kitchen. There were lots of collisions. Someone was always right in the way of everything that had to be done. That was an essential part of the fun. No Christmas should be without excitement and confusion.

I was the official taster and I had a full dinner before the others had a bite. How was the mincemeat for flavor? Giny wanted to know. How was the pumpkin? How was the dressing for seasoning? How were the cranberries?

The spirit of Old Charley, the gremlin bear, must have taken a hand when the matter of the cranberries was being settled—permanently. After the tasting I was instructed to put them on the back porch where it was cold. I started to carry out the orders, but I didn't get very far. Hi-Bub was right in the route that led to the porch. His head was just low enough that I couldn't see him over the large bowl of cranberries. There was a terrific tangle. He stepped on one of my feet and I stepped on one of his. He gave a yell and so did I. In the mixup the bowl slipped from my hands and down it went with a crash on the floor. Cranberry juice splashed on everyone and everything. Hi-Bub was a mess. Giny's apron was ruined. Ada's dress was spattered. My boots were dripping. Ray had cranberries in the cuffs of his trousers.

"There's your old-fashioned Christmas for you!" cried Ray, as soon as the laughter had died down enough to permit words.

"Oh, oh—our good cranberries!" Giny moaned.

"Oh boy, oh boy!" said Hi-Bub, in a more sober vein than his usual one. "Thith ith a thwell meth!" Any dismay on his part was quickly dispelled by the fact that June was assigned the task of cleaning him up.

"Now we eat canned cranberries," laughed Ada. "Come on—bring the broom, mop, shovel, rake and hoe –we must get this cleaned up, for time is passing."

The debris was soon cleaned up. The next and most dramatic event of our morning was putting the turkey in the oven. It was all stuffed and sewed. I never saw another such bird. It did suggest an ostrich, though perhaps a rather small one. It was a miracle that it went into the oven. We were in a huddle before the stove as it slid in. Then all of us helped close the oven door. That is really getting your fingers into a Christmas day.

Then came a surprise for Giny, Hi-Bub and me.

"Quickly now, get into your warm clothes," said Ray, clapping his hands in enthusiasm. "Get out the snowshoes—we are headed for the Sanctuary!'

"Whe-e-e-e-e," cried Hi-Bub.

My heart gave a bound of delight. "But the turkey," I protested, "dare we leave that?"

"Yes, we can," declared Ada confidently. "We have it all figured out. The turkey will be cooking six hours. June has agreed to stay and watch it while we have our hike. In four hours we can get to your cabin and back.

Then we’ll finish the dinner."

"But June will miss the hike," Giny protested.

"She has the woods all the time," said Ada. "Besides, she just loves to cook, don't you, June?"

June nodded happily.

The matter was settled at once for everyone except Hi-Bub. He looked as if he had got caught somewhere between an immovable object and an irresistible force.

What to do? Out at the Sanctuary were his animals and the places in which he had had so much fun. Yet here at the house was June.

"Could I thtay here?" he asked.

"Why, yes, if you wish, Hi-Bub," I answered.

"But couldn't June go?"

"No—she wants to cook the turkey."

"Well-well . . ." He looked from one to another for some sort of help.

June supplied what was needed. "Come, Hi-Bub," she said as though the decision was all made. "Let me help you into your clothes. I want you to see the Sanctuary in winter, and then tell me all about it. You and I will sit by each other at dinner, won't we?"

"Yeth, you bet we will!" agreed Hi-Bub, enthusiastically, heading for his toggery.

Yes, June—men are funny, at any age.

"Hurry, then," exclaimed Ada, "let's not waste any time."

We didn't waste any. In a few minutes we were dressed for the adventure and ready to go. Hi-Bub was the overstuffed doll again, though not quite so bundled up as he had been at the station the previous morning. The temperature had risen somewhat. His little face was left fully exposed, partly so he could see what was going on, but mostly so we could see his happy expression. A small sled was taken along for his convenience. Such short feet and legs were hardly made for wading through drifts and they were not yet ready for snowshoes.

One thing delayed us slightly. We prepared Christmas packages for our pet animals. There was a bag of nuts for the red squirrels. There were bread crumbs, grain, suet and gravel for the birds. A good-sized package of dog biscuit was included for the raccoons, though we felt sure they would not be awake to eat them. At Giny's insistence another supply of this food was placed in a cloth sack for Old Charley.

"Why, he's asleep—I hope," I commented.

"Yes, but we can hang it where he’ll find it in the spring," Giny insisted. "Charley is going to have a Christmas present whether he knows it or not."

We drove as far as the road permitted, then left the car at the roadside and cut through the woods toward our lake. Our snowshoes sank through the newly fallen snow, but underneath there was a crust that held us up. Hi-Bub had a great time with his sleigh ride. Like a slave driver, he urged us on faster and faster. The pace kept us from feeling the cold. Ray and I carried packsacks in which were the gifts for our animals. In less than an hour of hiking our snowshoes were singing over the crusted ice of our lake. At last before us, conspicuous among the leafless trees, stood our cabin!

Giny and I have since tried to put into words the feeling we had as we approached our home. We could not do so. There were tears in our eyes and they could not be charged against the cold.

The cabin looked as if it were just a great drift of snow with windows in it. We shoveled our way to the door, opened it and stepped in. There were exclamations of joy as we saw the many familiar books, chairs, tables, dishes things intimately associated with so much happiness. The place really was cold, however. In fact, it is always colder in an unused cabin than it is outside. We started the fire-place and the oil stove. It took them a long time to make any impression on the temperature. We melted snow to obtain water and then made some tea.

"This is the grandest Christmas gift I ever received," exclaimed Giny. "Just think of being here, sipping tea in our own cabin."

We heard a little chirp outside. Hi-Bub jumped to his feet excitedly. There was Nuisance, his favorite red squirrel, perched up on a snowshoe that had been left sticking in a drift. The creature was eying us with surprise and curiosity. His short bushy tail was whisking back and forth as he endeavored to understand this situation. Probably he was revising all his conclusions about this human species. He had always thought they migrated when winter approached and didn't return until spring. But here they were, dressed differently from the way he had seen before, to be sure—but they were the same people he had known.

"Noothanth ! Noothanth !" cried Hi-Bub. He grasped the package of nuts we had brought along and ran to the door. The enthusiastic approach was too much for Nuisance. Letting out a cry, the red squirrel scampered away over the snow and disappeared under the shed.

We cleared a spot on the ground where the nuts could be spread. A few minutes later Nuisance stood in the midst of them eating his fill. Hi-Bub made a calmer and more successful approach to his friend then. We cleared snow from the bird feeding station too, and there we placed the various tidbits we had brought along. The suet was tied in trees, and I had hardly secured the first piece when a hairy woodpecker came up and dined. We shoveled snow away so that we could see under the house. Our Christmas present for the raccoons was placed there. Since it would not spoil, we knew they would enjoy it whenever they found it.

The time we could stay at our cabin was limited. We closed and locked the door with the promise that we would be back with the first days of spring. Then we donned our snowshoes and headed for the area in which our old black bear had lived. We crossed a small hill and went down into the valley where he had been liberated, and where we had fed him during the previous autumn. The snow showed not a single track. We went a little farther until we could. see, reaching out of the snow, the roots of the overturned pine tree where once I had seen Charley assembling leaves and cedar bark. At first sight there was no hint of anything unusual. Everywhere was the blanket of undisturbed snow. Then suddenly Ray grasped my arm. Pointing excitedly toward the roots, he said, "Look—isn't that a little vapor rising?" We moved cautiously toward the place. It was true. There was a plume of vapor rising from among the roots.

"That's Charley," we said in unison. Hi-Bub was so excited we had to restrain him from going there and digging down to the hibernating creature.

Yes, in all probability that was the old black rascal himself. It could have been another bear, but inasmuch as he had prepared this place for himself, in all likelihood our neighborhood nuisance was down under that warming blanket of snow, and this was his breath drifting up through a small chimney it had created. We were careful not to disturb him. Probably it would have been difficult on such a cold day to bring a bear out of sleep, though it is possible to awaken them. Like us, however, they are not in the best of humor when this happens.

"Tham Cammel," said Hi-Bub softly, looking up from his position on the sled.

"Yes, Hi-Bub."

He motioned me to come closer. Obviously what he had to say was of confidential nature. I knelt beside him.

"I forgot to tell you," he said quietly, his eyes looking clown. "Little John put Old Charley to bed. He covered him with-with-you know what...."

"Cedar bark and leaves?" I volunteered.

"Yeth, and then thnow," he went on. "Little John come-th every day to thee him." Hi-Bub shot a look at me to see if my attitude was right.

"I am so glad, Hi-Bub," I said understandingly. "Old Charley needs someone to watch over him. You and I can't do it, of course, but Little John Deer Foot can."

"Yeth !" agreed Hi-Bub, now encouraged. "He told me Old Charley dreamth about bee-th and honey an' he kinda laughth in hith thleep."

"Good!" I exclaimed, so loud that the other members of the party looked around. "Hi-Bub, I wonder why we don't see Little John's tracks around here." I was testing his imagination and he was equal to it.

"Why," he said, looking at me in surprise that I didn't know, "Little John ith an Indian. He knowth how to walk on thnow and not make any trackth."

Oh, wonderful Little John Deer Foot! It seemed there was nothing he couldn't do.

We tied Charley's Christmas present on the limb of a near-by tree. Some bacon rind, had been put in to attract his attention. By standing on his hind legs he could reach the bag, tear it open and get the food. Whether or not he would find it, or want it, we would never know-but we had the pleasure of leaving it for the old fellow any way.

It was mid-afternoon as we started back for the car. In a balsam thicket we flushed a magnificent buck, with a beautiful pair of antlers. He was as surprised to see us as we were to see him. We had supposed all deer were in the great swamps by this time, yarded for the winter. Probably he had supposed all people were yarded up in towns and cities. When we came on him, he did not move at first but just stared at us in blank amazement. His ears went forward, his eyes widened and he held his antlers high. For a moment we wondered if something were wrong with him so that he could not run. He quickly laid our doubts to rest when he rose to his feet and went away into the forest in a series of magnificent leaps that made us gasp in admiration.

We emerged from the woods near the car. Our fingers and toes were numb with cold as we removed our snowshoes, but otherwise we were quite comfortable. The car heater had been put in order, and it wasn't long before our frosted extremities were tingling with warmth.

"I’m so hungry I could take a bite out of this steering wheel," declared Ray with a groan.

We all emphasized our hunger. Hi-Bub went farther than that. "Oh boy, I could eat thith theat!" he exclaimed. When this got a laugh he decided he could eat the car too. He could eat the tires and engine and bumpers. He was about to devour the trees and road when we called a halt, suggesting that he might spoil his appetite for the turkey.

However, we had a deeply impressive experience awaiting us along that road home, one that made us forget even our Christmas dinner—for a while.

WE HEADED down the snow-walled road toward home. Ray was driving, Ada and Hi-Bub sharing the front seat with him. Giny and I were in the rear seat. Conversation was happy, snappy and mostly about the coming dinner.

At a point about two miles from our destination we rounded a curve and discovered a man a short distance ahead walking in the same direction we were going. He was an impressive figure, straight, tall, powerful, with an easy gait that was covering ground at a remarkable speed. As we drew nearer we could see that he wore a coonskin cap and a buckskin jacket with a woolen shirt beneath. He had ankle-high shoes with trousers rolled to the tops, lumberjack fashion. He wore wood-chopper mittens and carried a packsack on his back.

"Who would that be, walking on a day like this?" asked Ada, studying the man intently.

"I believe I know," said Ray, slowing down. "There's only one man in this country who can walk that fast—Big John Shawano, the Indian."

Hi-Bub nearly jumped through the windshield.

"John Shawano?" questioned Ada. "Why, he's supposed to be about a hundred years old !"

"Yes," replied Ray. "No doubt he's walking to his cabin. It's easily fifteen miles from here. Maybe he has been in town."

We stared at the stalwart figure, now very close to us. It was Big John Shawano. The temperature then was near the zero mark. The loose snow of the roadway made difficult walking. Yet this remarkable old Indian had already walked five miles from town, and he was fearlessly facing fifteen miles more.

"We have time, haven't we, to give Big John a lift?" asked Ray, who has never been known to neglect anyone in need of aid. "What do we care if dinner is late? Let's take him home."

We all agreed quickly, and Hi-Bub spilled "yeth's" all over the car as he jumped up and down excitedly.

Ray touched the horn as we approached the man. He did not look around, but merely stepped to one side, thinking a car wanted to pass. There was not the slightest move on his part to gain a lift. Ray stopped beside him, rolled down a window and called, "Hello, there, John, where are you going?"

Big John halted and looked at us almost defiantly. He did not smile, though his stern look softened as he recognized Ray and me. "Oh-you!" he said in a deep voice. "Me go home!'

"Hop in with us and we’ll take you there," Ray continued.

"Yes, come on, John," I added to the invitation. "Climb in." I opened the car door.

John looked at us with a stolid expression. "No want ride," he said briefly. "John got these—they good !" He pointed to his long legs.

"But it's cold, John," persisted Ray. "We can have you home in a few minutes."

"John no stand still," grunted the Indian obstinately. "He walk—no get cold. No hurry. Got big time."

"But, John," Ray argued, "this car is nice and warm. We have a heater in it. You can go home comfortably."

John didn't budge. I never had a more difficult job of picking up a hitchhiker than we now encountered. In grunty talk mixed with pantomime, the proud old chieftain made us understand that tomorrow he would have no car but he would still have his legs. If he got used to the car, maybe he would wish for one, and he knew he couldn't have such a thing. But he could have his legs. He had had them for a long time and expected to keep them. Tomorrow he would still travel that way and he wanted to be satisfied to do so.

We were almost outtalked by the immovable Indian. The car was getting cold from the open door and we had about decided to let him finish his trip on foot without further argument from us.

Then suddenly John changed the whole course of the conversation himself. His dark eyes lighted up under influence of an idea.

"You read?" he asked of me, taking hold of the door to prevent me from shutting it.

"Read?" I repeated, wondering at the question. "Why, yes, John, I can read. Why do you ask?"

"Me no read !" said John. He drew himself up proudly as he added, "John know sky, he know trees, he know birds, deer—now he want read !'

"What do you want to read, John?" asked Giny, understanding the trend of the Indian's talk. "Do you have a letter or something you want us to read for you?"

John had already thrown off his packsack and was fumbling through it. Presently he brought out a newly acquired book, still wrapped up. He handed it to me.

"You read him!" he commanded with chiefly authority.

I unwrapped the book and we were all surprised to see a copy of the Bible.

"Why, John," I exclaimed, "it would take days to read this to you. This is the Bible."

"Me know," said Big John impatiently. There was a moment of silence as the Indian searched in his limited English vocabulary for the right words. Then he leaned forward, touched the book and asked, "Him-him-tell the story?"

We were getting some idea of what he wanted. "You mean the story of Christ, John?" I asked. "Yes, it is in here. Would like me to tell it to you?"

"No!" The Indian's answer was so sharp and explosive it startled us. "No! Me hear story plenty time. Man tell John. Woman tell John. Father tell John." He measured off various heights from the ground with his hand, indicating that he had been told the story of Jesus from his childhood to the present. "How I know they tell truth?" he asked strongly. "Now John want read! What he say?" And he nearly knocked the book out of my hand with emphatic pointing. Apparently he was confident that the Bible contained the truth, and he wanted this story directly from its sacred pages.

I had been fingering through the book. It was a splendid edition bound in limp leather. John had obtained the best he could get.

"I'll tell you what we’ll do, John," said Giny. "You let us drive you home and we will read the story of Jesus as we go. What do you say?"

John did not feel it necessary to say anything. His kind never use words when actions will do. That was the pattern of John Shawano's world. Nature deals with action, not talk, and Nature was John's environment. By the time Giny had finished her suggestion, he had placed his packsack on the car floor and climbed in. He sat on the edge of the seat as if he expected to leave any moment. He was so tall his coonskin cap brushed the top of the car.

It was then that I stole a look at Hi-Bub. We had been so intent on our conversation that we had forgotten about the youngster, now on his knees looking over the back of the front seat. He looked as if he had just swallowed a stick of dynamite. It seemed that if one more stirring and exciting thing happened, it would set off an explosion. His eyes were as wide open as the sockets would permit. He breathed heavily through his mouth as if he had been running uphill. Here was Big John Shawano, a real live Indian chief, right where he could touch him! It was almost too much.

"John," I said, as Ray got the car under way again. "Before I start reading I wonder if you would mind shaking hands with a friend who has known of you and admired you a lot. This is Hi-Bub."

The old Indian looked at Hi-Bub severely. Hi-Bub cringed a bit. Then I noticed a little smile creep into John's eyes, though his lips remained fixed. Suddenly he extended his hand toward Hi-Bub, with an explosive "How!"

Hi-Bub would have tumbled over backward had not Ada caught him. Timidly he put his hand in Big John's great hardened palm. He made several attempts before he succeeded, but finally he stuttered out a faint "H-h-hhow."

"Good boy," said John firmly. "He grow big-strong carry much-walk far."

"Ye-ye-ye-yeth," said Hi-Bub.

"John," I said, feeling freer now that the Indian showed some understanding of our boy. "Do you know of an Indian boy living in the woods whose name is Little John Deer Foot?" My question was accompanied by a wink.

John looked at me, then at Hi-Bub. "Like him?" he said.

"Yes, something like Hi-Bub," I affirmed. "Hi-Bub knows him and I thought maybe you would too."

"Yes-me know Little John," said the old chieftain, with no change of expression. "Good boy. He come some time—live at Big John's cabin. You like him?"

Hi-Bub could only nod. This adventure had gone beyond words.

Big John Shawano had enough of this child's play now, however. His eyes narrowed, and the muscles of his fine bronze face twitched. For a few moments under the influence of Hi-Bub we had seen into his heart and found him capable of tender thoughts. Now the habitual look of austerity returned to his countenance. Again he was the chieftain. His tone was nothing short of imperious as he said to me: "Read."

I was seeking the right place. In the meantime Giny tried to enter into a pleasant conversation with our strange guest. "Do you have any of your people coming to spend Christmas with you, John?" she asked.

"No !" said John with a wave of his hand. "Read !"

Giny's ever-ready sympathy was stirred. "Oh, you shouldn't be alone on Christmas, John. You could go to your people "

The old Indian raised his hand to silence her. His eyes flashed impatience. "Me-lone? he asked, as if the suggestion were ridiculous. "Me no lone! Me never lone!" He straightened to his full height. "God with John," he said in loud tones. "God with John day, night, all time."

"Oh," said Giny. We all felt there was nothing more to say on that subject.

I had turned to the second chapter of Luke now and began reading the story of the first Christmas. We were fascinated by the reactions of the old Indian. He seemed to have forgotten we were there. His attention was fixed on the "Big Book," as he called the Bible. It took much explaining and rereading to reach his thought with the story, but he grasped it amazingly well. The events could not have been more real and vivid for him had they been happening that hour. His austerity disappeared. His eyes sparkled with happiness. Several times he laughed aloud. I had to repeat to him how Jesus was laid in a manger "because there was no room ... in the inn." He wanted to hear again and again how the wise men came to worship the newborn babe. "They wise," said John. "They know papoose is son of God. People in wigwam--" we found he meant the people who were at the inn when Jesus was born--"people in wigwam, they not know. They no make room for papoose. Bah!"

We were understanding him better too, particularly his gestures. He told how his father, a chief well known in the early days of Wisconsin, had taught him of Jesus and Christianity. John did not go to any church. With a sweep of his hand he made it clear that the great forest, the earth and the heavens were his church. "All God’s !" he said, meaning creation. "John feel good. He know God."

We realized he meant that he found God’s work everywhere. When the birds sing he hears God. When dawn comes he sees God. When it is silent in the forest he feels God. "God make trees, flowers, lakes," said John. Then with a look of contempt he added, "White man think he smart—think he make world. Hah—I laugh !" He did laugh heartily.

"What papoose Jesus say?" suddenly asked John, touching the Bible with his finger. "He teach. What he say?"

Some of the sacred sayings of Jesus were read to him. There was the account of the Sermon on the Mount, the Last Supper, and the story of the Resurrection and the Ascension.

John listened closely. He closed his eyes for a few minutes' thought. Then through the medium of broken English and vivid gestures he delivered a sermon that we will never forget. His convictions were absolute. Jesus had told men how to live, the old Indian said, but they "no listen." He had taught them to be kind, to love one another. They didn't listen. Jesus taught them about God, but they wanted to think only of money, wine and meanness.

"Men listen Jesus-they be happy," he said, with a sweep of his arm that barely missed striking Ada in the face. "They no fight, make no war, no be sick-they not use big boom!" We learned that "big boom" was the atomic bomb, of which John had heard. By impressive gestures he told how destructive the big boom would be. One might drop here, and there would be no more trees, no lakes, no flowers—just a big hole. "White man better listen Jesus quick," said John. "Maybe too late. Big boom come—no men left."

Our reading and talking continued until we arrived at the trail that led for a mile back to John's woodland cabin. We could see the tracks he had made as he came out before dawn that morning—to walk twenty miles to town, pick up the Bible which a friend had obtained for him and walk home again.

John was still deep in the story about Jesus when he stepped out of the car and shouldered his packsack. He shook his head in disapproval of the world. "Papoose tell men how be happy;" he declared. "He tell them how be well—how live long—tell about God." Here he paused for a moment, and a complete change of expression came over him. He fairly shouted, "White man nail him up!" His eyes flashed and he raised his fists above his head. For an instant he was the warrior. Hi-Bub crawled into Ray's lap. We felt that if Big John Shawano had been there, the Crucifixion would never have occurred.

The Indian took his leave of us with never an expression of thanks. The ride had meant nothing to him. He was thinking of what had been read. "This papoose birthday," he said finally. "Big John happy. John talk with God all day."

Without another word he turned and went down the trail, his powerful strides sending the snow spraying before him. We called good-by, but he did not reply. We watched him until he disappeared into a clump of balsam trees. Then Ray turned the car about and we headed for home.

"I don't know just what he said or did to impress me so much," said Giny, voicing a thought we all had. "I have a clearer sense of what Christmas really means than I had before."

Hi-Bub finally found his tongue. "Oh boy—Big John is a thwell Indian," he said.

We had our old-fashioned Christmas dinner. June had tended the turkey perfectly. She and Hi-Bub sat together at the table as they had planned. At our suggestion he asked the blessing, saying, "Thankth, dear God, for all thith nith food-Tham Cammel, may I have the githard?"

It was a wonderful dinner and a wonderful evening that followed, filled with songs, presents and good will. However, there was a richness and solemnity to it all that we hadn't anticipated. The spirit of fun was there, but in addition we had the feeling of the meaning of the day. That was the gift of our meeting with Big John Shawano. Several times we recalled the last sight we had of him striding back alone to his simple woodland cabin deep in the forest saying, "This papoose birthday.... Big John happy.... John with God all day."

Hi-Bub's daddy called for him at the appointed hour. At first the lad didn't want to go. It was hard to leave the scene of so much fun. June saved what might have been a small rebellion by saying, "Hi-Bub—I must go to bed now. Good night. Please come to see me again, won't you?"

A fellow would just have to go home and dwell on that-and Hi-Bub did.